Poison
by The One and Only CGK
Summary: If you touch me you will die.  I don't want to kill you... but I can't control it.  If I had my way, I would be dead by now.  It may take another 300 years for me to die...  Possible AU, OC  I think


Disclaimer: I do not own anything by Marvel, DC or any other comic books out there. I also don't own City of Heroes, or anything by NCsoft.

Note: I developed this story based on a character build from City of Heroes and a combination of other mutant abilities from Marvel and DC comics. I searched for a mutant with a similar ability in these universes and could only find Marrow, Spike, and Poison Ivy. Had I found someone with this particular combination of mutant abilities, I would use that particular character, but, I haven't found one. Please, if there is a character in the comic world that fits the description, let me know.

Otherwise, I bring you my OC (to remain nameless at this time) whose Mutant ability is as follows:

_**Poison spines**_ that either spike all over her body, or can be used as a projectile (Like Marrow and Spike, however I don't think either of them have poison). The spikes are actually extensions of her bones (Like marrow), but disintegrate slowly after coming into contact with air (Like Spike).

Her _**blood and skin is also poison**_ (So far most similar character is Poison Ivy from DC) and so she cannot be in contact with anyone or any living thing, hence she may seriously injure them or kill them. She even kills plants as she walks on them.

Because the bone spikes go through her skin (like Marrow) as well as the poison coursing through her veins, she has a _**healing ability**_ which can be comparable, or may even surpass Wolverine and Deadpool's abilities, because without it, the poison in her system would even hurt herself.

I tell you this just because I don't want to steal an idea that has already been placed by Marvel, or DC for that matter. I happen to only read Marvel comics for the most part, but again, if there is someone out there in the comic world that is similar to this, let me know and I will make it a fic about her/him, because either way, the idea that I have should be original. This story at the moment is just going to be this one chapter, so I can get feedback on the character, as well as get an idea on whether or not anyone is enjoying the story. If I do decide to continue the story, it will be set in the Marvel universe, and more specifically, interactions with the X-Men. Thanks for your time :D

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><p>It has been a long time since I have killed someone.<p>

I manage to sound like a serial killer when I say that, even when I am saying it to myself. However, I am not a serial killer, or anything remotely close to that. Or at least, not by choice. In actuality, I want to stay away from people as much as possible. I wish they would all just stay away from me. People that get close to me, they think they can handle it, even if they know what's wrong with me, but its always those that are the most caring that die first. I have killed them many ways, and hardly ever has it been in my control.

My first victim was my own mother. Whether my curse is due to this stupid gene they have been talking about for the last 50 years, or because I am something else, it started for me very early. So early that I was still a babe in my mothers womb when I killed her.

Another curse of mine is my uncanny memory. Once my brain was developed enough to store information, I started to hoard every image, action, and conversation. So even now, 102 years later, I remember killing her as a 7 month old baby.

As I said, she was in her 7th month when I developed my first ability. And even now, I am not able to control it fully. If I am under a great amount of stress, my bones go jagged, and spikes protrude all over my body. Now a days, if this happens, they disappear within a few minutes when then come in contact with the air, becoming like ash. But it's only when it comes in contact with the air. It's something I haven't figured out yet myself. So because of this, when my spikes consumed my body for the first time, they did not disintegrate, but instead remained, and my mother died from the multiple stabs to her internal organs. She probably wouldn't have survived anyway, even if they had disappeared. Even though medicine then wasn't like it is now. Sometimes I wonder if she would have even survived that today.

It was 2 days before someone found her dead body, lying in the middle of her cottage in early Eastern America. And this is also where my second ability comes in. Because the spikes are actual extensions of my bones, they have to pierce my through my flesh. And the only way for me to survive this is to have some sort of healing ability. For 2 days, I remained in my mother's womb, unable to free myself, still a prickly cactus, and consuming her dead, cold amniotic fluid. Nothing but darkness in my eyes, and the muffled sounds or the outside world to my ears.

Sometimes I think it was the dead fluid that gave me the last of my abilities. I wouldn't develop that one for quite some time though.

To her discoverer's surprise, I was still alive, moving around inside of her, trying to make my presence known, for some type of assistance to get out. I remember the first thing I saw was an old man, his face screwed up in horror as he cut her open to free me. Here I was, a tiny baby, with spines all over my body. He wanted me to die as soon as he saw me. He couldn't even pick me up at first, since it took some time for the thorns to disappear. Even when they did, he was still hesitant to put his hands in there.

They thought I was deformed for the longest time. A year goes by, and yet I don't look like I have aged but maybe a few months. Not only that but if no one came to me to give me sustenance, I would fuss myself into another attack. If it went for too long, the barbs would shoot out of my body in every direction, spraying the walls and ceiling with needles. They were afraid of me. They all wanted me to die. But I wouldn't die. They didn't want to feed me, and sometimes I went weeks without food, but I wouldn't die. Even when you can heal, everything is still painful. Imagine one thousand bee stings all over your body, all at the same time. Imagine being hungry for weeks. A normal person would die from malnourishment. I kept going, a hunger unsated. Eventually someone sympathized and finally gave me food.

I stayed in the care of this place, this old, ugly, rickety and smelly building for 5 years. In all that time, only appearing to have the body of a one year old, however having the mental development of a normal human. I was a 5 year old talking out of a one year olds body. I saw many people come and go. Most of them left because I would hurt them. I would have an uncontrollable fit and then explode into spines. At least all those people lived.

When I was at the age of 10, body age of almost 3, my next ability started to manifest. This is where I killed a 2nd person.

I lived at a place which I could only describe to you as some kind of mental institution. I was kept away from people, behind a locked door so I couldn't hurt anyone. There was no window to the outside world. My door had only an opening with a metal flap, so they could give me food and drink. No one interacted with me if they didn't have to, except Jane. She was nice to me. She sympathized for me. She would talk to me when no one else would. She would give me books and a candle to read them by, and toys so I wouldn't be so bored, living every day in a cell. She never came inside to see me, because of orders from her superiors. Even so, she treated me like a real human.

I had been locked up in this room for 2 years, never able to go outside, and never able to interact with humans. It wasn't until one of the other so called patients tried to set the building on fire that I got to see the light of day. Jane tried to save me, and that was the last mistake she ever made.

No matter how smart or indestructible, a 10 year old is still going to be afraid of burning to death. I was already littering the walls with my bone spikes as the fire raged on down the hall. This time, I noticed the spikes were dripping a green ooze out of the new hollow middles before they disappeared after a few minutes. I wondered then if that is why I had been getting sick so often. I thought they were trying to poison me, but shortly after that, I understood it was not that they were trying to poison me, it was that I was poisoning myself.

Jane unlocked the door. I tried to warn her not to come near me but she didn't listen. She only made it in my room a few feet before she fell forward, dead from the poison spines that pierced her skin. At that point I didn't care about the fire anymore. I killed 2 people already, and I deserved to be cleansed in the red flames. I let the fire consume me, but after a while, I couldn't take the pain anymore, and I ran out.

I decided at that time it would be better if I was on my own, and try to do my best to avoid people. I knew already that if I got upset about something I would explode, so I would have to keep my cool and only interact with someone if I was in dire need of it. Even at 10, survival instincts can still take over, and you can learn to survive where ever you are. Plus it helped that I could go months without food, even though I hated doing that.

My main place of residence then and even now, as I traveled West through America, are caves and crevices buried deep inside canyons and mountains. I was afraid of animals living there at first, but eventually, caves and clearings would be wiped out if I got too scared of them. Sometimes I wonder if I was the reason that some of the animals in the areas I traveled to went endangered.

It was hard to avoid people, even then. When you look like a child, a lot of parents would have the natural instinct to help that child. Even running away on a child's legs is hard to do. This is when I killed many many more people. Between the ages of 11 to 40, I killed at least 3 people a month. Between the many vagabonds I came across, to the people from the east traveling west, anyone that tried to help my small, 4 year old looking self, up till I looked to be 10 years old, would die, and merely by touch. I noticed around 11 years old that where ever I walked, a path of death followed behind me. If I walked barefoot through the grass, each footstep would leave it dead behind me. If I touched a tree, my handprint would be there, forever a rotted area, if it didn't kill the tree entirely. If I had an explosion, my blood matched the green oozing color that came out of the spikes. And if someone saw my small body, running away from them, if they caught me once their skin touched mine, they would eventually die.

It started out as a sickness depending on how long they are exposed to me. It's gotten more potent through the years as well. Then, at 11, it might have taken a few hours, after only a minute of exposure to my skin. Now, even the slightest touch, and you are dead within the same hour. If they touch my pale green blood, their death is instantaneous.

At 40 years old, with the body of a 10 year old, I was finally big enough to avoid people, or get away from them fast enough for the most part. The death toll gradually dropped from there. Only those unsuspecting people that stumbled upon me as I slept in my cave would die as they tried to help me.

Everything living thing I touch, I kill.

In the 1980s a man finally came out and said that Mutants existed in the world. People with special abilities. Sometimes devastating abilities, but abilities all the same. He tried to say that these abilities manifest at adolescence, which only partially explains me. I wonder sometimes if I am a mutant, or if I am something else all together. I contemplate going to him, but it also means exposure to normal humans again, and I don't want to risk it.

I will never know exactly what it is like to cuddle a real live kitten, or get sloppy kisses to the face from a dog. I will never know the pleasure of sex. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever know what it feels like to die. I will never have a name. I was never given one.

Now, 102 years later from my accursed birth, I appear to be the age of about 25. But 102 years worth of memory consumes me. I wish I could forget their faces.

It has been a long time since I have killed someone, but I know that there are still more victims to be had, as there is always someone straying from their path, finding me, touching me. It won't be long now before someone finds me again. I do what I can to try to prevent it. I wear what I can find for the most part. I try to have shoes, pants, long sleeve shirts and turtlenecks, and gloves. Sometimes when pieces get worn out, I can't always find a new item right away. Thankfully, I look like a homeless person, and most people try to avoid the homeless. I looked dirty, I always smelled bad, and the rotting clothes help to maintain the appearance. This was how I was going to live my life.

Or at least it is how I thought I was going to live it. I wonder if all of these years of exclusion and exile have made me crazy, because now I hear a voice in my head. And he says to me… _I have found you, and I can help you. _

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><p>Note: This is just a trial run for me as far as the story goes. Depending on how I feel about it, how YOU feel about it, as well as how much research I can do, and of course, if I can outline this (because I haven't started that yet) then I may continue. I at least wanted to get this part out there. Thanks for reading<p> 


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